A Little Slice of Heaven

I sorted through some cookbooks on the kitchen counter. My husband, Steve, worked next to me in silence. We were going through his parents’ farmhouse near Rock Port, Missouri, trying to decide what to do with everything in it. We were overwhelmed by the 60 years of stuff that had accumulated.

- Amy Houts

I knew this undertaking was hard on Steve. He’d grown up in this house. His parents had built it themselves. After his mother, Velma, had passed away 20 years earlier, his dad, Lyle, had left everything untouched. He’d instead focused his energy on keeping the farm going. Now Lyle was in his late eighties and could no longer work. Lyle resisted leaving the farm, but it was clear his health was deteriorating. Steve and his brothers decided to move him into a nursing home.

The brothers knew that they were making the best choice, but it was tough for Steve to see his dad frail and diminished. As we emptied out his parents’ kitchen now, I knew Steve was thinking about all the good times the family had shared here and the good meals his mom had cooked.